


all i want is you

by summerofspock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale in a lot of pretty things, Aziraphale in a sundress, Disaster Crowley (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Gentlethirst, Getting Together, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Male-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Sort Of, all types of aziraphales, and crowley likes them all, hand wavy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23529730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: It was always like this. Every time he saw Aziraphale after a long break and he had changed something about his appearance, Crowley's heart went haywire.**In which Crowley is very soft for how Aziraphale looks in sundresses.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 650
Collections: ineffable wives or female presenting





	all i want is you

**Author's Note:**

> another soft boy in these trying times  
> this fic exists because i pictured female presenting aziraphale in a sundress and promptly died (much like crowley does)
> 
> title from 'i will' by mitski

It wasn't that Crowley _fucked off_ per se. It was more like he had a minor panic attack when Aziraphale tried to hold his hand at the Ritz and decided that he'd much rather not be having panic attacks. And if he wasn’t having panic attacks, he’d rather be doing it in Moscow.

He called the angel. Of course. He wasn't avoiding him or anything.

And Moscow was nice in the fall. Sort of.

And when it got too cold he went to Morocco and when that got boring he went to Spain, forgetting he actually hated Spain until he was two bottles deep in Madrid having a drunken shouting match with some bloke who tried to claim vaccines caused disease.

He told himself it was only a couple of months. He could run off to the other side of the world and Aziraphale wouldn't change. That was the nice thing about Aziraphale. Steady. Unyielding. Always the same.

Feeling much better after 9 months in Europe -- fortified in fact -- Crowley returned to London ready for all manner of non-demonic hand holding wherein he did not have a panic attack or pass out or anything embarrassing like that.

So the day after Crowley arrived in London, he got himself ready, marched over to the bookshop and tossed the door open with his usual lack of care.

"Oi, angel, I'm back!" he cried into the atrium just as his nose picked up a new scent. Familiar yet strange. Peaches and springtime and --

"Crowley!"

Aziraphale trotted out from between the bookshelves and Crowley's thoughts ground to a halt.

Aziraphale was wearing a sundress. And had tits. Which Crowley could see most of in the strappy dress Aziraphale had taken to.

What the fresh fuck?

"Angel?" Crowley squeaked, probably looking like a gape-mouthed fool.

Aziraphale looked momentarily confused and then he brightened. "Oh yes, my corporation. I realized I hadn't changed it since that reprimand about frivolous miracles and I was doing some reading about modern fashion and thought how nice all the lovely dresses looked. What do you think?"

What Crowley thought was that he might die if Aziraphale didn't put on a jacket. He could see his collarbones. The lovely stretch of his soft arms. His sodding wrists.

He looked down to gather himself and realized there was quite a bit of calf on display too. And Aziraphale was wearing low heeled sandals. His toenails were seashell pink.

The dress was off white with little eyelets on the hem, a tartan ribbon wrapped around the waist and tied into a cute bow in the back. Crowley wanted to untie it. He wanted to grab Aziraphale by the arms and yank him into an earth-shattering kiss.

Entirely oblivious, Aziraphale took him by the wrist and dragged him back into their little nook at the back of the shop. "But enough about me. How was your holiday?"

Crowley couldn't think about Moscow because Aziraphale was standing there, curly blond hair pulled into a low ponytail that swayed over his back. The sundress was tight about his chest and just a little fat pushed up over the back of the bodice. Crowley wanted to bite it.

"It was good. Relaxing," Crowley replied, over-enunciating to make up for his nerves. He was cool, collected. Not about to plotz at the sight of Aziraphale clavicles.

Aziraphale hummed happily and dropped into his normal seat by his desk. It made his skirt ride up and Crowley saw the inside of one dimpled knee.

"I'm glad. You seemed awfully stressed."

Crowley swallowed hard and collapsed onto the sofa, trying his best to make it look intentional and not like his legs were giving out. "Yeah, stressed. Wound tight as a...windy thing."

Aziraphale smiled at him indulgently. A bit irritated and a bit fond. In this shape his mouth was impossibly poutier. Crowley ground his teeth and tried not to think about how it would feel to kiss it.

"I did miss you," Aziraphale said earnestly. And Crowley had no recourse except to reply in kind.

It was always like this. Every time he saw Aziraphale after a long break and Aziraphale had changed something about his appearance, Crowley's heart went haywire.

* * *

The first time it was a beard. Of all stupid things. A sodding beard.

A few thousand years ago, Crowley had gone to Greece for work and of course he ran into the angel. And of course he had grown a beard. It was _fashionable_. Or so the angel said.

It would be fine if Crowley could stop fantasizing about the way it would feel against his thighs. Against his face if they kissed.

Why was Aziraphale so stupidly attractive?

"Crowley, are you paying attention?" Aziraphale demanded. They were sharing wine and playing a game of dice and Crowley had stared off into space in the general direction of Aziraphale's beard. Namely his mouth.

Aziraphale's hand went to his chin self-consciously. "Is it bad?"

"Er, no. No, not at all," Crowley said with a dismissive wave, mind screaming _IT’S VERY GOOD._ "Just different."

Aziraphale scowled and scratched his pretty nails through the strawberry-blond scruff. Crowley choked back a whine.

"It is a bit itchy," Aziraphale admitted, scrunching up his nose and looking adorable.

Crowley's stomach twisted and dove into his feet before hurtling back up and settling into place.

Fuck it all.

* * *

The second time was even more pathetic. Hose. They were the fashion of the day. Crowley liked them fine. Bit flimsy but they got the job done.

Then he ran into Aziraphale in London and hose were his new favorite article of clothing.

Because knees. Aziraphale's knees. The delicate bone of them. They were so vulnerable and pretty. Not to mention his ankles and calves. Crowley imagined his legs in his lap, somewhere Crowley could wrap his hand around the generous curve of his leg, maybe trail his fingers up and feel those thighs...

It was a bit much actually. But Crowley was doing his best to keep it together.

They'd started spending more time together because of the Arrangement which meant more time to look at Aziraphale's legs with deep, unadulterated appreciation.

"Do I have a hole in my hose?" Aziraphale asked abruptly when he finally noticed Crowley staring at him. They were leaving the Globe and Crowley had taken the opportunity to walk slightly behind Aziraphale. Better view.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Crowley asked peevishly.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "You foul beast,” Aziraphale said, not without affection, before adding, “I recently discovered a tavern with the best wine I’ve had since Phoenicia. Care to tag along?"

"I've got nothing on," Crowley said, thinking about knees and soft thighs and what they would feel like wrapped around his waist.

Aziraphale bounced on the balls of his feet. "Lovely. I do say drinking is always better with good company."

Crowley froze. Good company. Aziraphale thought he was good company.

Best play it cool.

"Right. Probably true," Crowley observed with a shrug, trailing Aziraphale through the crowds.

* * *

The 18th century was fine even if the fashion was hideous. Or so Crowley thought until he saw Aziraphale in it. To be entirely frank, it was the mid-century dresses. Aziraphale had never taken to dresses before, staunchly wearing breeches and using male pronouns wherever he went.

In fact, he still used male pronouns when he was in a dress. _Seems silly to change them now,_ Aziraphale had said.

When Crowley asked why he changed at all, Aziraphale had answered, _have you seen the dresses. Lace and finery and oh, Crowley. It's positively wonderful._

Crowley had not exactly understood. Seemed a bit too much trouble to get into that many layers.

But then he saw Aziraphale at a ball in Paris. He had swanned in a bit late, glowing in a pale blue dress with a cream inset in the bodice and skirts. The neckline dipped so low that Crowley could the pink edge of his nipples pressing against the lace and threatening to spill forth.

They made eye contact across the room. Crowley choked on his punch and had to excuse himself to get some air.

Aziraphale followed him out onto the terrace, flouncing happily, his powdered white curls shining in the light of the moon.

"I didn't realize you were here, Crowley," Aziraphale said as if seeing Crowley was the best thing that had happened to him in decades.

Crowley glanced at him and felt rather punched in the stomach. Cream ribbons. White lace. Like a cake

A cake Crowley wanted to eat.

"Er, yeah, business. You know."

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally and looked out over the moonlight-drenched hedge maze. "It's so lovely these days, don't you think?"

Crowley stared at his profile, the soft curve of his cheek, his full mouth. "Lovely. Yeah."

Aziraphale smiled at him and took his hand like the sensation didn't practically make Crowley astral project back to Hell. "What do you say to another drink? I think this party would be much more fun drunk."

Crowley trotted after him, entirely enchanted.

* * *

"I was thinking we could go to the sea," Aziraphale said over brunch. He was sipping a mimosa and there was a dollop of whipped cream on the corner of his strawberry mouth. Crowley wanted to taste it more than anything. Had he lost his chance?

"The sea?" he choked out, trying to focus on Aziraphale's words and not his little pink tongue as it darted over his lips.

"Yes. The weather has been so warm. I'd love to take it in. It's been nearly a century since we've gone."

Aziraphale was wearing a strappy, flowing blue sundress patterned with white polka dots. The fabric looked sheer and soft and Crowley felt a bit like a wolf out of an old cartoon, eyes turned to hearts as they fell out of his head.

"Sure. Whatever you like, angel," Crowley said, pushing sullenly at his half-eaten toast.

Aziraphale snatched it off his plate with a scowl. "You don't have to be quite so taciturn. We're free. We're together. Don't you think that means we should do what we want?"

Crowley wanted to snap, _And what about what I want? What if what I want is to tackle you to the ground right here and tear off your pretty dress?_

Instead, Crowley took a long drink of his lukewarm coffee.

"The sea sounds like a good idea."

* * *

The sea was a bad idea.

Crowley hadn't been thinking because going to the sea in summer meant sheer dresses and _swimsuits_.

Aziraphale was wearing some vintage, high-waisted number. The bottoms were jet black and the top was deep red, the halter coming around his neck and tied in a pert bow. Crowley's colors. It made something possessive take root in his belly. It bloomed as Aziraphale wandered over to him, leaving the changing room and looking confident and beautiful.

How was he always so beautiful?

Crowley could see a strip of pale skin beneath the top just before the waist of the bottoms started. It was tantalizing.

But it had nothing on his arms. Lord in heaven. Pale and voluptuous. Perfect for squeezing.

Crowley thought rather wildly that he looked like the apple in Eden. Round and tempting.

Crowley adored Aziraphale's corporation, every facet of it. Every time he presented differently -- rare as it was -- Crowley liked that too but no matter his body’s configuration, Crowley's favorite thing about Aziraphale was his thighs. So soft and so fucking bitable.

Not that he knew for certain.

But fuck if he didnt want to.

And now he could see all of them. His thighs had dimples, cellulite marks that looked like they would fit Crowley’s thumbs perfectly. His mouth went dry and he forced himself to look at Aziraphale’s face.

A floppy white sun hat completed the rather vintage look and Aziraphale smiled at him as a breeze lifted one of the two loose braids draped over his shoulders. "Won't you be warm in that?"

Crowley was wearing his normal black get up and if anything made him warm, it certainly wouldn't be the weather.

"I'll be fine," he growled, a bit tetchier than normal for obvious arousal related reasons.

"Well, dont complain to me when you can't go in the water."

"I hate the water.

"Pish posh," Aziraphale said, clucking his tongue. "Now come along."

Aziraphale led him down the shore, occasionally stopping to pick up shells. The movement drew attention to his deliciously full bottom and made Crowley realize why people used peach emojis as a euphemism.

The sun was beginning to set and Aziraphale sighed happily, pausing in his walk to look out over the sea. Crowley stopped and drew up beside him. Happy to even have this.

"If I hold your hand will you run off again?" Aziraphale asked quietly, startling Crowley.

"What?" Crowley squeaked. "Hold my hand? Er, I mean - sure. That's not why I ran - you know that it’s - I’m just trying -"

Aziraphale reached out and grasped his hand. The contact made him lose his voice as he stared at the place Aziraphale was touching him. Aziraphale's hands were smaller in this corporation. Crowley remembered how wide his hand had been that day in August at the Ritz. But now, his pudgy fingers fit inside Crowley's.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand, drawing Crowley’s attention..

The orange of the sunset made him glow, his white curls turned gold. "Crowley," he began, his serious tone stealing Crowley's breath. "I'm in love with you and I think you know that."

Crowley made a sound that was entirely consonants. Maybe a glottal stop thrown in for good measure.

"I'm fairly certain you feel the same way, but you can tell me if you don't," Aziraphale said, not withdrawing his hand.

Crowley felt like the waves in front of him, breaking. “Of course I do,” he admitted, even through the panic rising in him. “Have done for a long time."

Aziraphale's face lit up in a grin so blinding it would have been easier to look directly into the sun.

"I'd like to kiss you. If you'd let me," Aziraphale said, eyes searching his face.

Crowley couldn't say anything so he just leaned down and met him halfway.

And on a miracled blanket on an empty beach with the waves crashing behind them, Crowley learned the reality of Aziraphale’s knees, the softness of his thighs under his mouth, the way his body gave under the attentions of his hands. His kisses were sweet -- as Crowley knew they would be. But even sweeter was the feeling of Aziraphale coming apart beneath him, whispering endearments, and reminding him of all the ways Crowley loved him. In this shape and any he might choose.


End file.
